


To Be Alone

by semicolonlife



Category: The Kings of Summer (Movie)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semicolonlife/pseuds/semicolonlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick always does what Joe says until Joe tells him to leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Alone

**Author's Note:**

> How I anticipated the fight scene to play out. There was definite sexual tention between Joe and Patrick and nobody can tell me otherwise.

“LEAVE,” Joe shouts.

Patrick sets his big, stupid jaw. He shakes his head. “No.”

Joe lunges forward and pushes the taller boy. Both of his hands land firmly on Patrick’s chest with clap that sounds like thunder. Joe thinks perhaps he should recognize this as the omen. Patrick stumbles back.

“Go!”

“No.”

“Go!” Joe shoves at him again. “Go after her, you idiot!” Because girls only run off when they want somebody to come chasing after them, but Patrick’s too stupid to know that. He just stands there and lets Joe keep hitting him. 

Biaggio has pressed himself against the wall. His eyes are wider than ever so he looks like those trout he pulls from the stream. He’s got his hand on his machete. 

“I don’t want you here.” He slams into his chest—a thunder _clap_. “Just leave.” 

“No,” Patrick says and steps towards him again. “Joe, I don’t want…” His eyes flit around, taking in the loft where they—the two of them, not Biaggio— sleep and the broken window. He looks back at Joe, and the intensity anchors him. “We built this.”

He comes closer. Joe braces for the punch he anticipates, deserves. He can see the muscles in his friend’s arms tightening. He looks away to meet Patrick’s gaze. He’s fucking tall. Taller than he’s realized and broader still. Despite the boot on his foot for the past two months, Patrick is still a wrestler and strong.

His muscles are taunt, coiled with energy. Joe has been to every one of Patrick’s matches. They go to Vinny’s afterwards to celebrate; Joe buys. He’s wasted a lot of his dad’s money on pepperoni slices. Patrick’s never lost a match. And it dawns on him that he’s gonna hurt like a bitch when Patrick finally pummels him. 

“We built this,” Patrick repeats and his voice breaks. “This is our house, Joe. And I don’t want to leave.”

This is his house—his idea, his design, his initiative. Patrick only came because Joe asked him to. Because Patrick always goes along with Joe’s ideas.

“My house,” he corrects. “My rules. And I don’t want you here anymore.” Joe moves to shove him again, but Patrick acts quicker.

He catches Joe. One hand rings his forearm, while the other is fisted in his shirt. Patrick pulls him up, close to his face. His mouth is a firm line. Joe is pushed up on his toes to keep his balance.

Patrick scrunches his eyes closed and pulls a deep breath through his nose and holds it. Nobody moves. Joe doesn’t even breath. Biaggio stands on the other side of the table, outside the candle’s reach, but the flame catches on the drawn machete. 

Outside the cicadas sing and Kelly gets further and further away from them. And maybe if she just keeps going, they’ll be alright, because Patrick ain’t gone after her, like he should. Like Joe told him to and Patrick always does what Joe says.

Patrick’s eyes snap open. And Joe doesn’t even have time to let go of the breath he’s holding before Patrick slams his mouth against his. The kiss is aggressive but clumsy the way Patrick is. Joe finds himself taking control as he always does. He turns his head and with his free hand grabs at Patrick’s shirt. In truth, he should be better at this, Joe thinks, having snuck off with Kelly enough times. 

Her blond hair and simple smile swim before his vision. She looks a lot like his mother did. Joe pulls back, but Patrick, stupid like always, follows his lips. Joe jerks his head away and tries to pull free of Patrick’s grips him tight, twisting his shirt round his massive first so the fabric cuts into the back of Joe’s neck. 

Joe struggles and when Patrick doesn’t let him go, stomps on Patrick’s booted foot.

Patrick howls and releases Joe with such force he nearly falls. This probably saves him, because when he looks up, Patrick has taken up their tufted and leather chair in which they take turns each night to smoke part of cigar and recount profound things they learned in nature like the lack of propriety in owls, who seems unaware they were nocturnal. Patrick holds this chair above his head in a stance that might have been comical if Joe hadn’t seen him do the same thing with a wrestler form Valley West before pinning him to the mat.

With seemingly no effort, Patrick lobs the chair at Joe, who drops to the ground and avoids being hit. The chair strikes the wall, taking out the whole front corner of the house.

Joe waits. The song of the cicadas bleeds louder. He waits just thirty seconds, to see if the rest of the structure will cave in and bury them. When it doesn’t, very slowly Joe climbs to his feet. Patrick suddenly looks very small.

“Joey, I’m sorry—“

Joe seizes a chair by it’s back from the table and swings it at him. Patrick dodges this then darts from the room through hole he created, moving surprisingly fast despite his boot. He is quickly swallowed by the darkness.

When he can, Joe staggers around to find Biaggio still standing on the other side of the table. His machete lies forgotten on the ground. He opens his mouth, but Joe cuts him off.

“Go away.”

Biaggio nods twice, picks up his machete, then leaves through the front door.

Long after the sounds of Biaggio stomping through the woods faded, Joe slumps to the floor with the back of his hand pressed to his mouth. He sits alone in the house he dreamed and designed for his best friend, who has finally listened to him the one time he didn't mean what he said.


End file.
